Children Grow Up
by celticann
Summary: Danny deals with his adolescent children


**Children Grow Up**

CJ/Danny; mentions of Donna, Toby, and Andy

Rating Adult –

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for "Holding Hands on the Way Down".

Way back in 2006, when I wrote "The Twelfth of Never", I wrote of Danny being told by his daughter that she had started her first period during one of CJ's trips for Frank Hollis. Then I read "The Go Between", That story put a bug in my muse's ear and she insisted that I write this now and not in twelve years of "Holding Hands" time.

Laura, I hope you don't mind that I am posting my version.

The novella that Danny will write will be infinitely better than my little story with the same title.

"Babies Don't Keep" is by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

Feedback and criticism always welcomed

_2:15 AM Sunday, May 26, 2024; Santa Monica, CA_

Danny woke up about 45 seconds before he heard the soft click of the front door. That sound was followed by soft footsteps carefully picking their way across the courtyard, a muffled "shit" at the sound of a foot stumbling into a table leg, and then the sliding glass of the doors that opened to the bedroom wing of the house.

The bedroom door closed and the light switch flicked.

Padraic Concannon turned around and his shoulders dropped at the sight of his father sitting on his bed.

"Dad."

"Pat."

"Dad, I - "

Danny reacted to the aroma coming from his son's mouth.

"What were you drinking and how much?"

"We split a fifth of Irish Mist. There were four of us. It wasn't nearly as good as Aisling's brew," Pat smiled and shrugged his shoulders, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Okay, three drinks, Danny figured. His son should be okay, probably wouldn't even blow a breathalyzer. Not that it mattered, of course.

Yes, he and CJ allowed their children to taste beer, wine, and some spirits in their own home. (But never when Donna, Andy, or others in public office – especially Sam – were visiting.) Pat and Caitlin were also given (very) small glasses of wine when the family visited with Gina and Randy at the winery in Napa. And, of course, when they were in Scotland and Ireland, they were allowed to taste the wares of MacDonald Distilleries.

However, he and CJ impressed on the kids that although the two of them disagreed with the law that made alcoholic beverages total "forbidden fruit" until age twenty-one, Pat and Caitlin were expected to follow it except under those few situations.

"How did you get home?"

"Manny called Ary. He picked us up at Chris', took Dave home, and then brought Manny and me here."

"Okay," Danny said as he stood up. "We'll finish this tomorrow – later today."

"Dad, can we do it now?"

Danny turned around.

"No, we cannot. I'm tired. I've been sick with worry. I had to lie to your mother, pretend that I knew where you were, when she called at 11:00 from Madras. I don't like lying to your mother, especially on our anniversary, but I don't like having her worry any more than she already does about you, Caitlin, and me, either. Right now, I just want to get in my lonely bed and try to sleep. It will keep for a few hours. It's not as if **you're** going anywhere for a while."

Then the concerned parent overtook the disciplinarian.

"Drink lots of water, take some aspirin, just in case."

Danny walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

Well, Concannon, Pat thought to himself as he stripped and got into bed, you've royally fucked it up this time.

_Later that day_

"Dad, you can't tell me anything that I haven't already told myself. I was stupid, immature, and I'm sorry that I betrayed your trust in me."

Pat looked up at his father's face. The two of them were sitting in the den.

"I'm sure that's true, Pat, but I'm going to say it just the same. But, first, you aren't stupid; you did something stupid. You put Chris' parents in a very dangerous situation, legally, even if they weren't home. As soon as Chris pulled out the bottle, and, for that matter, as soon as you found out that Mr. and Mrs. Kelso weren't home, you should have left. How many times have we told you to call?"

"Dad, I know, I know. It just seemed - "

"Like a good idea at the time. I've been there myself." Danny reminded himself that he was no saint himself when he was a young teenager. Like the time that he and Joey Porter decided to hop onto the "City of New Orleans" and go down to the Gulf of Mexico. He could still remember how much his ears (not to mention his butt) burned when his father picked him up in Memphis. ("Yer ma was beside herself wi' worry, Danny.")

Danny stood up. "You're a good kid, Pat. We all make mistakes. Two weeks."

Having given his son the length of his grounding, Danny put a hand on Pat's shoulder and started to leave the den.

"Dad, about that." Pat stood but did not follow his father.

Danny turned around in surprise. The children knew that punishments were set in stone.

"Pat, it's - "

"Non-negotiable. I know, but, please, just listen."

He looked so much like CJ, especially now that he had reached six feet two and gave promise of growing at least another inch.

"Pat, it doesn't matter what you have planned, you know that."

"Dad, it's not for me. It's Maggie; her _quinceañera_. Saturday."

Danny stopped. It had completely slipped his mind.

"Please, Dad. Give me an extra week. Take my money, except for what I need for her flowers. Please don't make me hurt her like that. Give me two more weeks; just let me out for that one day. You can beat me, if you want, just don't mark me like Jake Florek's fath - " Pat stopped. "Please, Dad, it means so much to Maggie."

Danny weighed the situation. Pat wasn't asking for himself, he was asking for his best friend. His son was willing to have his grounding extended in order to avoid disappointing Maggie. It was sensitivity; it was a degree of maturity that one did not often see in a boy who would not turn fifteen for another two weeks.

Danny was torn. No punishment he or CJ could devise would have as much of an effect as making Pat live with the consequences that breaking curfew and drinking would have, not on him but on the person who meant the most to him. But could Danny do that to Frank and Diana, on their youngest child's special day? Danny suddenly saw, in the mystical way he sometimes saw, that within ten years, Magdaléna Ynès Muñoz would give birth to his grandchildren. Could Danny do that do his future daughter-in-law on the day that would be surpassed in meaning only by her wedding day and the births of her children?

"Okay, you get a furlough for the _quinceañera_. And in return - "

Pat's shoulders stiffened in anticipation of the price for his request.

"No electronics at all for the first week."

"Thank you, Dad. I guess I'd better get to my room."

"Just a minute."

Pat had said something about beating. Where did that come from? Danny had stopped that talk, no matter how joking, after Caitlin was born and CJ told him about the nurses who had given her the cards for the abused women's shelter.

True, he had had to spank Pat once when the boy was five, but other than that one occasion, his son had never done anything to warrant anything more severe than groundings and denial of privileges. And that had only been two swats with the palm of his hand. Danny knew his father had been a good man and a good father, but there was on aspect of his father's parenting that Danny would not imitate.

What had Pat said about Jake Florek, about marks?

"Tell me about Jake and what you've seen on his body."

"Please, Dad, don't make me – we're all afraid to ask, to say anything. What if Dr. Florek gets even madder?"

"The authorities will see that he doesn't. Tell me."

Fifteen minutes later, Pat was in his room and Danny was on the phone to the principal at St. Monica's.

Later that evening, when CJ called again, he told her of the events of the past day. She agreed with his decisions and with his assessment of their son.

"I'm not surprised, Danny. He has you for a model. I'll call again tomorrow, from Helsinki. Until Wednesday, I love you, I miss you."

"Hurry home to me, Jeannie. There's a hole in the bed and I need you to fill it."

_6:55 AM PDT; May 28, 2024_

"So, you have just the two exams today, both this morning, right?" Danny asked his son as he passed the box of corn flakes. At Pat's nod, Danny continued "and I can't pick you up until 2:30."

"They have pickup games in the gym."

"But you'll be in the library, studying," Danny stared at the boy, who nodded in agreement. Part of the grounding was not being with his friends other than in class, at church, or on the lacrosse field for scheduled practices and games. "Where's Caitlin, it's almost time for Frank to take the whole lot of you to St. Monica's." Pat and Maggie were at the high school; Caitlin was still in middle school.

"I didn't hear her this morning. Want me to go light a fire under her?"

"Please."

Three minutes later, Pat came back into the kitchen.

"Caitlin's sick; she says she's not going to school today."

Danny went to his daughter's bedroom. He was sure she wasn't malingering. Caitlin's grades were very good and she loved school. And her year-end exams were over; the lower school was holding their end of year picnic today.

"What's the matter, honey?"

Danny sat on the side of the bed and reached for Caitlin's forehead. She flinched slightly, as if to pull away. She wasn't unusually warm to the touch.

"My stomach hurts. I just need to stay in bed. I'll be fine here, you can go off to your meeting, Daddy."

Danny's first thought was appendicitis.

"Does it hurt when I press here?" He reached for her right side, just above her thigh.

This time, Caitlin did pull away from him.

"No!"

Caitlin's movement caused the faintest scent to waft across Danny's nostrils. It evoked images of darkness, of secrecy, of fecundity, of fertility. Simultaneously, he saw images of CJ and that first week in San Diego after the end of the Bartlet administration. He saw CJ curling into herself the same way Caitlin was doing now. The smells took him back into time, back into primordial male consciousness, before the connection was made between sex and childbirth, but after the obvious one between lack of the mysterious flow of blood and pregnancy was part of primal human knowledge.

Danny's first thought was for his wife. "Oh, Jeannie," he said to himself, "I've got to make sure you don't beat yourself up over not being here for this."

But for now, he had to deal with the fact that his little girl had taken the first of many steps toward adult womanhood. He knew that many single fathers had had to deal with this same fact in the past. Come to think of it, Hank and Steve probably had to deal with it, or would be dealing with it soon.

Danny knew that CJ had talked with Caitlin, just as he had talked with Pat. When Pat was twelve, the school held a group discussion, complete with a short video and medical experts, for the boys and their fathers (or father figures). CJ and Caitlin had attended a similar session at the beginning of this school year. He remembered remarking that the girls had their "talk" a year earlier than the boys and CJ telling him that some of the girls had apparently "started" over the summer.

"Caitlin, honey, you're having your first menstrual cycle, aren't you?"

His daughter blushed, but nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Honey, I'll be right back."

Danny went to the kitchen, told Pat (and a waiting Frank Muñoz) that Caitlin would be staying home, turned on the gas under the tea kettle, and went into his bedroom.

Danny found the heating pad in the bottom drawer of CJ's dresser. It must be almost ten years since she had last needed it, but seeing it brought back memories. There were those first months before her "very regular orgasms" lightened the pain and two years of pregnancy erased monthly cycles from her schedule. Then there were those first few months off oral contraceptives, when they were trying for Caitlin.

Danny went into the bathroom, then back into the bedroom, where he picked up the phone and called Scott's office. He explained the situation and asked what pain reliever would be most effective.

"Motrin or Aleve would be better than Tylenol or aspirin, Mr. Concannon," the nurse told him. "Keep salt out of her diet."

Five minutes later, Danny walked into Caitlin's room again, carrying a tray with tea, toast, some ibuprofen, and the heating pad.

"This is what Mama always wanted, honey," he told her as he set the tray on her bedside table. He plugged in the heating pad and set in on the bed.

Caitlin slipped the pad under her sheets and smiled in thanks as she held it against her.

"Caitlin, do you need any, ah, supplies?" Danny suddenly realized that there might be something else his daughter needed. "Or would you like me to see if Aunt Diana or someone else is home?"

"When Mother and I went to that movie and talk at school, they gave us starter packs. I remember Mrs. Helstrom and her talking about "product placement", whatever that is. Daddy, I just want to sleep, but thanks for the heating pad. It feels good."

Caitlin turned on her side away from Danny, effectively dismissing him.

Mother. Danny reflected that CJ accepted Caitlin changing from "Mama" to "Mother" with much more grace than he exhibited when Pat went from "Daddy" to "Dad". It was typical. To Caitlin, he was still "Daddy"; to Pat, she was still "Mama". It was only with the same sex parent that their children, when approaching adolescence, felt the need to shun the names that implied "little kid". And Pat insisted on changing from "Paddy" when he started fourth grade and altar server training.

After Danny showered, shaved, and dressed, he checked in on his no longer so little girl-child.

Caitlin was sleeping, curled into a modified fetal position, her hand still holding the heating pad against her body. She had shifted on the bed. He could see a little rust stain on the sheet and he remembered the August morning when he woke up to see CJ dabbing at a similar mark.

Everyone said that Caitlin looked like him. He thought she resembled Aisling (but then, everyone said that Ash looked like him). However, lying there, Danny saw CJ in the set of her shoulders, in the bend of her legs.

Caitlin looked so peaceful.

For a while at the beginning, Caitlin had been a bit of a problem baby – nightmares and crying jags for which Linda Tallchief could find no medical cause. At eighteen months, she had quieted down for a while, when Aisling spent the summer with them. But when she turned five came almost two years of frustration, then worry, then fear. He and CJ had to spank her twice. The second time, after the incident with the little stray dog, they were ready to consider institutionalizing her for a month or so.

By that time, Aisling had her doctorate in psychology. She and Brian Stewart interrupted their honeymoon so that Aisling could take care of her little cousin. ("I can do it better than anyone else, Uncle Danny. Let's all go up to Albion for the summer. Brian and I have the rest of our lives together, but Caitlin needs help now.")

Whatever Aisling did or said, it worked. By the end of the summer, when Toby, Huck, Molly, and Alexis visited with them while Andy went to China for a week, CJ and Danny were able to stop worrying about their daughter. After that summer, Caitlin had not caused them any more concern. She was not perfect, of course, but her little transgressions were those of a normal child.

Their lives returned to a more even keel as both kids started school. When Frank Hollis asked CJ to assume the chair of the Hollis Foundation board, she said yes. And when goaded by Donna, CJ finally took the coursework needed to earn the PhD that she had talked about for years. He became a full professor at USC and continued to write. "And Then He Kissed Me", his slightly fictionalized novella about how Jed Bartlet and Abbey Barrington found each other in the early 1960's, won him another Pulitzer.

When Danny was looking for the heating pad, he had seen the little shadowbox that was lying under it. It was a gift from Clara, when the women of the block had a shower for CJ right before Caitlin was born.

There was an image of a mother and child at the back of the box. The glass on the front was imprinted with the end of the "Babies Don't Keep" poem:

"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow

But children grow up, we've learned to our sorrow

So quiet down, cobwebs, and dust, go to sleep

I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep."

Yesterday was their seventeenth anniversary; in a few days, their son would be fifteen. In a few days after that, he would be older than his father was when his father died. When he was nineteen, he dreaded approaching this birthday. But with CJ and the kids in his life, he hoped for, and looked forward to, whatever God intended for him.

Speaking of CJ, he heard her name on CNN. The reporter was talking about the meeting in Helsinki, but the footage was from some ten years ago, when she was discussing what the Hollis Foundation had learned from "Road to a Better World" before a congressional committee. He made a note to watch the rebroadcast of UN conference in Scandinavia later in the day.

CJ would be home tomorrow, but he wanted to talk with her now, tell her about Caitlin, about Pat, about the two wonderful young people he and she had created out of their love. It should be late afternoon in Sweden.

Danny picked up his phone and punched the button attached to "ICECJ".

The phone rang twice and she picked up.

"Hi, honey, I was just thinking of you. Thanks for calling."

----------------------------

Babies Don't Keep -- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,  
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,  
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,  
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?  
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,  
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.  
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due  
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew  
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo  
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo  
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?  
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow  
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.  
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!  
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.


End file.
